


At Your Service

by chlare



Category: Donald Strachey Mysteries (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Complicated Political Intrigue, M/M, POV First Person, Past Abuse, References to Homophobia, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 09:12:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chlare/pseuds/chlare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Posted as part of the AU/Crossover challenge over at <a href="http://tim-don-a-thon.livejournal.com/">The Tim-Don-a-Thon Community</a>.  Roles are reversed - Tim is put on security detail for Undersecretary to the Defense Department Strachey after some threats have been made... Yes, Tim the P.I. and Donald the politico... Who would have thought?</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Your Service

I rapped on the door succinctly, shoes shining from beneath the cuffs of my neatly pressed slacks, even in the low light of dusk. A late fall breeze tried to ruffle its way under my long khaki trenchcoat.

The door opened and a man who was shorter and blonder than I was, appeared. I offered my license and identification by way of greeting, preferring to get matters settled and in hand as smoothly as possible. No guessing, that was my motto.

"Detective Callahan, glad you could make it." The man pulled the door wider, ushering me in with a wave of his tumbler of amber liquid. I only caught a vague sniff of it, but it smelled stronger than my father's scotch, the only amber liquor I'd gotten familiar with in my day. Vodka was more my style. Clear, succinct, versatile. You knew what you were in for. And one couldn't really cap off a nice evening without a stiff martini.

I followed the politico inside, taking in all the details of the man and his richly furnished home. He glanced back, noticing my keen eye, I suppose, and said without prompting, "Decorator on payroll. She changes it practically every week at her whim," and as if reading my thoughts, added, "Really, I could care less about 'design.'" 

Junior Undersecretary to the Modern Defense Commission Strachey actually managed to make air quotes even with one had around his glass. 

"Sir." Non-committal is my specialty. I may not have been the most well-paid P.I. in Albany, but I was the best at my craft and I wasn't getting paid to spout off my personal feelings about this man. He seemed like a bit of a playboy from what I'd read, not to mention the clear disdain for culture; all fluff and no substance I noticed as we headed towards his den. Clearly the 'decorator' wasn't allowed in here.

"Sit," Strachey said, motioning to a lush, leather couch. "Drink?" He was already at the cabinet of the well-stocked bar hidden on the other side of the room.

"No, thank you, not on the job. And with windows like these, it would be better for you to stand away from them," I informed him brusquely, already moving around the room without being told, closing curtains discreetly, examining where the light shone most and might make him an easier target – in short, focusing on the protection detail I was supposed to be fulfilling.

"Boy, they found me a stickler, huh?" he seemed to half-joke.

"If you'd prefer a slap-shod job of your safety, Undersecretary Strachey, I'd be happy to hand this over to the police too," I bluffed. Truth was now that my father had cut me off, I was living paycheck to paycheck and couldn't afford to get kicked off this job. Thankfully, Strachey was no idiot.

"It’s Donald," he said, diverting the discussion as though he thought it unimportant, but clearly the man was worried. Even to someone without my trained eye, the man was tense and was trying to drown that anxiety in alcohol.

"You also might want to lay off the whiskey," I guessed, hoping to impress the man for some reason, I suppose. I couldn’t say he wasn’t as attractive as the magazines pronounced him, he was fit and had beautiful blue eyes I was ignoring for the moment, but that was no reason to get distracted, I reminded myself, since he went through men like candy. Not my type at all. I sensed him sizing me up as well and I cleared my throat. "It'll make both of our lives easier if you're alert to your surroundings and not dead to the world and cranky as all hell in the morning."

"Gee, how'd you know I'm cranky when I'm hungover," he said dryly, but he set down the glass quietly.

"Honestly? I've seen footage of you in the background at recent press conferences. The last few, you've looked liked you'd snarl if spoken to."

"Been stalking me?" He sounded almost hopeful. Definitely had been sizing me up then. I may have been a little easy on the eyes, but this man would be getting nowhere with me, I was resolute. 

"Research. I make it a point to know as much about a client as possible. And I don’t socialize with my clients," I clarified, wanting to get that thread of tension between us dashed right away. I was always open with my clients about who I am; I didn’t do work for people who had a problem with my sexuality, that was priority number one.

"Very thorough..." He obviously ignored the last part, but...did I detect a note of respect?

"If you'll show me around the house, and let me have a good look at your alarm system..." It was my turn to motion with a wave of my arm to the doorway. We’d stood around long enough. I had a job to do.

"Right. Yeah. This way." I followed without a sound. 

Outside, the world had had a blanket of night thrown over it....and I had the opportunity to notice that Donald Strachey had a very nice ass, the bastard.

\- - - 

"And when was it that you received the really threatening emails?"

"Bout a week and a half ago after the Post story broke. People latched onto it like mad. Like I was the guy who was responsible for 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell’ being repealed, and simultaneously the reason it shouldn’t have been." Strachey ran a tired hand through his pale hair as he settled back onto the couch in the den once we'd had our walk-through. "I was sinner or saint, depending on who was protesting. I can't blame 'em, really, but fuck have they got the wrong guy. I'm nobody on the Hill. Anything classified that I have access to...I just wouldn’t ever- Anyway, they’ve got the story all wrong." Strachey shrugged, shaking his head and swirling the now clear water around in his glass with fingers that looked like they'd seen more time in the gym or in the field than behind a desk on Capitol Hill. 

He'd served his country, that much I knew, had risen the ranks of military intelligence quickly and now was a bit of a flunky for the Joint Chiefs in Washington when they felt a need for his special brand of expertise - which translated to being gay with a good military record - so they could show they were supporting gay rights, but most of the time he resided in Albany working with the state government on issues after 9/11. 

In fact, that last bit made me tempted to reconsider the ‘all fluff and no substance’ to Donald Strachey. 

Now, though, he was caught in an public affairs maelstrom. Not that I felt sorry for the guy, because I didn't. He may have been gay but he wasn’t doing anybody any favors. He wasn’t doing anything for the gay community with his behavior. He was riding his position, waiting for someone else to make things happen. Sitting safely in Albany, trying not to make any waves.

"You could be somebody though. You’re in the right place. Inches from the top. Why _aren't_ you trying to get into other areas, make some change? You could really be a role model." I just couldn't help myself. "You don't seem stupid, and I'm sure you know a lot of the right people. You could really be in a position to do _something_ for the community," I persisted. 

Strachey's eyebrow arched, but I kept doggedly on. This was my life too. I just couldn’t keep it in. He had the opportunity to do what I’d wanted to do before my world came crashing down. "Don't you want to be able to marry the man you love some day?"

Strachey snorted and shook his head, looking at a photo on the mantle I couldn’t see. "Yeah, thanks for the compliments, but you are barking up the wrong tree, detective. I’m nobody and nobody should give a damn about who I fuck. Why can’t anyone just get over who I put my dick in..." His tone was light and maybe sad but there was a razor edge underneath that should have been a big, flashing neon sign that I should back off. I was on a roll though...

"But people do care. You can’t sit under a rock and pretend the rest of the world will just come to their senses. You're pretending the world is fine when you could be making real change for other people? When you could make a stand against bullying, prejudice, even doing something about the suicide rate in our demographic?" He'd hardly been taking any of this seriously. Cracking jokes from the moment I arrived and the dossier I'd collected from a friend at the pentagon had shown no better. It made me see red to have to watch someone in a position of power do nothing, be a coward, really. A medal of honor and some silver stars to his name weren’t going to get him out of this one in my eyes. The man was good at throwing himself in the line of fire, that was for sure, but there was more to life than bullets.

"Look, Callahan, you're crossing the line. You're here to protect me, end of story. My politics are none of your business. I’m not telling you how to do your job - even though I could - so don’t think you can tell me how to do mine." Oh, I had hurt the poor puppy's feelings? Good Lord. He could withstand a few IEDs, but a discussion about the world for a gay man was too much? 

That was it for the night though. Strachey’s mouth was drawn tight as he got up and stalked to the stairs up to his bedroom, slamming the door awhile later once I'd deemed the room clear. Okay, part of me did feel bad. There'd been a strange look in Strachey's eye before he'd stormed off. No clue what it was, but I wasn't getting paid to get some schoolgirl crush on my client. He was an ass who'd been ordered to hire a protection detail and I was that protection. This wasn't _The Bodyguard_.

\- - - 

He spent most of the night in his bed, probably pouting, I thought uncharitably, and I spent most of the night in his refrigerator. Whatever grocery deliveries that had been made in the last week could be suspect and I planned to make that my first plan of attack since I knew breakfast would be first thing and I felt I had the perimeter more secure. I would go over it again in the morning. 

For now, though, I examined frozen pizzas, cans of refried beans – basically, a plethora of things the human body really should not be consuming, regardless if the items were poisoned or not. There wasn’t a vegetable in sight aside from a few sad looking carrot sticks.

As fit as he was, Undersecretary Strachey could use a nutritional overhaul. It was disgusting really that a man that looked as good as he did got away with eating junk like this. If I so much as looked at food like this for too long, I would have felt my belt getting tighter. Outrageous is what it was, and a heart attack waiting to happen. 

Well, I would be firmly putting myself in charge of ordering the groceries this week. Surely, the man could prepare himself a little broccoli from time to time. And if he didn’t, I would do it for him. If there was one thing I’d learned from my grandmother it was how to cook a man a good meal. It would be safer anyway. I didn’t have a cook listed on his staff so it would have taken more time to run a background check at this juncture anyway, if he had one that hadn’t been on my list. Better if I did it myself. Last thing I needed was a zealot in a chef’s hat pouring bleach in the man’s morning cereal. If Strachey even ate breakfast. He seemed on a high alcohol diet so far.

I stopped and sighed at the now nearly empty refrigerator before closing it and closing my eyes. That assessment was unfair of me and I frowned at myself. I really didn’t know what my problem was. He was a human being too, but somehow he was bringing out all my judgemental flaws. I was being harsher than I would for some of the other unsavory clients I had, that much I could see plainly. Sure, they didn’t have a problem with who I slept with, but that didn’t mean they had any common courtesy either. Strachey had been nothing but cooperative and genial to me and I had practically verbally attacked him like he was in charge of all politics that might involve gay rights.

Sighing again, I started my grocery list and resolved not to let my personal opinions get in the way again. I needed to be on top of my game. The threat was real and I owed it to myself at the least, not to let Strachey come to any harm. 

I had seen the Post articles online, of course... There were often photos of Strachey kissing men in the tabloids, that seemed to slide under the radar easily enough, I guess, that is until Strachey had been photographed kissing yet another man - only kissing on the cheek (honestly it wasn’t scandalous at all, you’d kiss an aunt like that) - but the man had been ex-Mossad, it had turned out. 

Strachey was sharing secrets, some had said, courting our allies, using his position and insider knowledge to sow strife. Hardliners against gays had then latched onto the situation with unbelievable venom, saying things like, how could the government support a man in such a high defense position who was so devil-may-care in his personal life - they couldn’t very expect him to take his professional life seriously, much less care about the safety of this country, and it had all snowballed from there. 

I didn’t even read the ones that simply said Strachey was, of course, evil simply because he was gay. 

It was a miracle that Strachey had kept his job - but it helped that we were allies with Israel anyway and it would have caused an even bigger mess to make the incident about U.S-Israeli relations. So, I guess, turning the focus onto Strachey being gay seemed preferable. His bosses didn’t say anything for or against him, but that was enough to give the press free rein to talk it to death. Then had come the threats. If he didn’t resign... If he had to keep flaunting his sinful ways... well, the rest of those sentences didn’t end well. Letters, phone calls, run-ins with strangers that Strachey had fought his way out of.

The Administration couldn’t ignore all that, and I hoped that they didn’t really want to. They would look like they fools if he ended up dead and those threats came to light. So discreetly I had been hired. Strachey’s friends in the State Senate at Albany had stuck up for him and made sure he got me - the only gay detective in Albany, instead of someone who didn’t have a dog in this. I bet whomever would have done fine, but apparently Senator Glass wanted everyone to know they were supportive here in New York.

“I’m not going to let this guy get killed and cause yet another scandal for father to rail about,” I muttered under my breath as I finished up the groceries and basic supply list.

“Huh?” Strachey was in the doorway, stretching, his robe gaping open at the top to reveal a well-defined chest, the like that I hadn’t seen in a good while. I really needed to get out more. Or as my mother would insist, get laid more.

“Nothing, Sir-- Mr.-- Strachey-Donald. I mean. Sorry, just going over plans,” I got out finally, hating how flustered I sounded.

The bastard had the nerve to grin and I couldn’t seem to help it, I felt my mouth turning up into a small smile back. How could a smile be that infectious?

“Hopefully, ‘father’ isn’t my security code name,” he joked, pulling open the fridge. “Hey, where’s all my stuff? There was milk in here before...”

“Two weeks out of date, Mr. Strachey,” I said without compunction. 

“It’s Don--”

“And the rest I trashed. Anything from the last delivery could have been poisoned. I’ve made a new list to be purchased.” I slid the list across to him for perusal.

His face fell. “No frozen pizza?”

“No frozen pizza,” I said firmly. “I plan on doing the cooking to rule out any foul play there and I don’t cook frozen pizza.”

“There’s so many vegetables...” he said like a forlorn ten-year-old. 

“Yes. Other people buy them for nutrition, not for ice packs,” I said, quirking a brow, because the one pack of peas I’d finally found in the freezer was clearly there for just that purpose.

Strachey made a grumbling noise but didn’t say anything else, instead making a beeline for the coffee maker which already had coffee in it. “So nothing for breakfast?” He poured himself a cup and took a sip, “Holy...” he practically purred. “This is good.”

“I used the whole beans, not the instant you had in the pantry.”

“Do I even have a coffee grinder?”

“Yes, actually. It works quite well, as does your French press.” My mouth really was quirking up at the corners now. It was surprisingly adorable how he savored the coffee like he had never had anything so good, and how little knew about what was in his kitchen.

“The beans were from a Venezuelan diplomat I helped out. Forgot I even had ‘em,” he said without further explanation. It made me wonder if it was legal ‘helping out.’

“I thought since you had that luncheon benefit later we could get something before I grab groceries.”

“You’re my plus one, right?” He said it a little to fast. I thought maybe it was nerves, but I couldn’t have been sure.

“Yes, it seemed the best way to keep as close a position on you as possible. My people will be placed around the perimeter though. They’ll be ready and alert.”

“You have people?”

“Of course. I’m not military like you. I leave the hand-to-hand to the professionals.” I tried not to sound defensive, but people often didn’t take me seriously after I said what I was about to say. “I’m good at what I do, Mr. Strachey but most of the detecting I do doesn’t require a gun. I’m proficient with a firearm,” the family cabin upstate when I was growing up had helped there, “but I don’t get into fisticuffs.” I hated how prim I sounded, but... Strachey didn’t seem to be smiling with mocking, again, he seemed impressed and respectful. It was surprising coming from a man with his background. He’d probably killed dozens of men and here I was basically telling him I didn’t like violence.

 

\- - -

 

Groceries and the quick stop at the cafe I knew went seamlessly - it was easier to not make a production made out of it. I simply acted as though everything was normal and I was just a friend of Strachey’s who needed some cooking advice. While the scenario might have been a stretch - a large one - I didn’t anticipate running into anyone Strachey knew at the store anyway.  
Blending in was sometimes necessary, even I could admit. 

“I never go to the grocery store any more,” Strachey said, looking around like he might have been in wonderland. “Easier just to put in my order online and get deliveries. Not home all that much so...” he trailed off, getting distracted by a display of ice cream toppings.

We got back to his place and I checked the perimeter once again for any obvious holes while he showered and got dressed for the event. It was casual, but nice, of course. What he came downstairs in was all wrong for it though. I looked at the invitation and asked if I could look through his closet. Strachey shrugged and nodded.

The invitation had said dressy casual. He was not casual, in fact, Strachey looked like he might’ve had a golf club keeping him so tense and straight. “Here,” I handed him a light sweater to put over his button-down and tie. “That should do. And these.” I handed him some shoes that would make him look more GQ and less...office flunky. 

Donald shrugged but wore what I gave him. “Thanks,” he added with a slight blush. “I never know what to wear to these damned things.”

“My dad’s--” I stopped myself from revealing that connection. Donald might have actually met him on the Hill. “Well, we ended up at a lot of these things when I was a kid, I know the drill. It’s no trouble.”

The drive to the luncheon found Donald with his fingers curled into his palms, flexing and opening them. I wanted to say something to calm his anxiety, but it seemed...too personal somehow. I was just there to protect him. I hadn’t come across any red flags on the guest list and we’d had no encounters at the store or the cafe. I hoped my added presence was helping to keep his persecutors at bay as much as it seemed to be.

Donald fit perfectly into the dress code, I noted, as I stuck to his side while he made his way through the meet and greet that is the beginning of any big function. I was kept busy scanning the crowd, murmuring notes on the guests and staff to my crew. 

Donald said his hellos as though nothing were out of the ordinary. As though he made small talk and went through these pleasantries all the time, and maybe he did, albeit he didn’t look like he enjoyed it. 

The whole thing brought me back to thinking about my own family and more accurately, my father. Congressman Callahan has a certain ring to it and he wasn’t a man to have that ring sullied after being a fourth generation politician. Not even for his only son. My sister-- well, that’s another story. My father and I though, we’ve been through more than our share of rough patches. The only time I see him now is if he happens to make it on television. 

My face must have shown what I was thinking about because Donald asked, “Penny for ‘em?”

“My father wouldn’t listen to my thoughts even if you paid him,” I muttered.

“There’s my code name again. Something on your mind, detective?” he murmured, sticking closer to my side - our shoulders bumped and I could feel wisps of his breath on my neck - when we were in between chatting with women with strands of pearls so long they looked like they might use them as lassos to capture Donald with. Donald. When had I started thinking of him as Donald and not Undersecretary Strachey?

“My father and I aren’t on good terms,” was all I was really willing to admit to at the moment since there were plenty of ears listening in.

“My father and I weren’t either since he used rough my mom up. And my brothers and sisters. Haven’t seen him since I turned sixteen.” He said it so nonchalantly, as if we were talking about the weather.

“And the rest of your family?”

“Dunno.”

He didn’t elaborate, but there were a few more lines around his mouth as though he were trying a lot harder now to keep the smile pasted on his face.

“Wouldn’t they have had to investigate- I mean for your appointment to the Cabinet...”

“Callahan, haven’t you ever heard of a hint?” was all he said. I wasn’t the only one with skeletons in the closet then.

“It’s Timothy.”

He looked at me then, eyes boring into mine like he could really see me, and I felt my whole body tingle. “Tim. Good to know.” He said my name like he was savoring it, and it was hard to pull my eyes away from his- thankfully, someone came up to him and wanted to shake hands.

\- - -

It wasn’t long after that we were seated at our table and the ceremony started. The waiters started moving seamlessly through the crowd with various dishes from the three-course lunch. They were puppets on strings, they moved so fluidly through the crowd, I felt like I could be in the middle of a ballet without knowing it. 

Halfway through the speeches I noticed there seemed an excess of traffic near our table. I looked around more, trying to be discreet; our table wasn’t near a path of heavier travel and there was no one pulling aside one of the waiters to ask a question or something like that to cause such a blockage of people around us. It took me several moments but I finally saw the odd man out, standing about two tables away, slowly maneuvering himself closer. Something in his hand glinted when he moved.

“Donald. I need you to come with me.” My tone was firm and I curled a hand tightly around his arm. “I forgot something in the car,” I whispered to the other guests at the table. It was flimsy, but I was in a hurry. The man might turn out to be nothing, but I wasn’t about to take that risk. _Safe, safe, keep him safe_ , was racing through my mind.

Donald was up and moving smoothly as soon as I’d finished making our excuses. He was good - he knew to move quickly but not frantically so we wouldn’t attract too much attention. I tugged him subtly to the back of the ballroom, only stopping to point out the man directly to Bub Bailey, ex-cop on my staff who I knew would find a good way to get the man away and interrogate him as necessary.

It hadn’t seemed all that bad until we were back in the towncar and I realized my chest felt tight from lack of breath. Donald flopped back and sucked in a deep breath himself. Honestly, nothing had even really happened, I shouldn’t have been this wrung out, but I felt the adrenaline just pour out of me and I had to close my eyes a moment.

“Hopefully, we’ll hear something in a moment. I’m sorry for dragging you out when they were nearly done presenting.”

“Don’t sweat it, Callahan. I hate these things anyway. Too bad we missed the surf and turf though.” Again, he was trying to laugh it off and I shook my head at him. “But thanks. You caught that quick.”

“My job,” I murmured as Bub’s crackling voice came over my earpiece saying they had indeed found a knife on the guy, and the email with his instructions on his phone. “They’re taking the man down to the police station,” I said to Donald after thanking Bub.

“So you were right. Thanks for saving my life, Tim.” We looked at each other a long time before I had to avert my eyes and tell the driver to take us back to the house.

\- - - 

I hustled him into the house, the two of us alone for the time being while Bub and Kenny Kwon, my assistant sorted things out at the luncheon.

I poured him a drink without bothering to ask, wiping my face and sitting down across him. “My job really isn’t this exciting normally.” I gave Donald a half smile. 

He was busy taking a long drink of his whiskey. “Mine used to be all the time. It feels bizarre now. Feels like I got sucked back to the past.”

His face was...there was relief drawn there, but as he spoke he looked sad and then very, very lost. I noticed he looked back to the mantle again, still not sure who he was looking at. I did notice there was a smaller frame tucked partially behind the ones of Don shaking hands with various politicians and others with army buddies. “Was he from back then?” I asked daringly, pointing to the smaller frame, seeing a spike of dark hair and a grin. The man looked happy and gorgeous. I looked back at Donald and he wasn’t looking at the photo but out the windows.

“Yeah, he is. I killed him,” Donald said simply and I stared at him.

“What?” I couldn’t imagine-- I mean I could, of course he’d been in combat, I’m sure he’d killed-- But-- “Why? Why the photo still?”

“He’s how that stupid Post story got going. His brother, Matthew, is the one I was with. Anniversary of Kyle’s death. We were meeting to commemorate, not screw. I hate this.”

I stayed quiet, hoping to wait him out the way Bub said they did with suspects in interrogation. Donald looked miserable. I thought my life was miserable at times, but... I’d never seen misery like this. Guilt and pain all in a jumble chasing across his face.

“At least Matthew never blamed me. He should have.” Donald ran a hand over his face. “Kyle and I served on a special allied task force together. He was in the closet. I- was young, stupid, and in love.” He shook his head at himself and I barely breathed because I thought he might stop if I reminded him that I was there. 

“I thought we should leave our respective militaries, you know, so we could really be together. He didn’t agree and the break up- was horrible. Someone found out, made allegations.” There was a twisted, sad smile on Don’s face. “Kyle couldn’t face the rumors, the possibility that more people might find out, that his family would disown him, and his career would be a dead-end. Funny that turn of phrase, as it turned out.” Don stayed silent a long time, I almost thought that would be the end of his story.

“He took his own life. But it was my fault. Matthew was the only who knew about us back then. He just knew. And I meet him once a year so his brother isn’t so dead for him.” Penance, I thought to myself.

I looked at him for so long he must have thought I was horrified by him, because he stood up and headed to the door.

“Donald. Wait.” he stood in the doorway, but he did turn his head to look towards me even if his eyes were downcast. “Donald, I’m so sorry. You’re a good man.” I bit my lip trying to find something else to say to help ease the pain on his face. “Even this mess won’t change that.”

He didn’t smile, but he did nod his head to me in acknowledgement, maybe even in thanks before he went upstairs.

\- - -

The ice was broken after that and we got into a routine: work, dinner, a little conversation and an awkward good night.

When I accompanied Donald to the office, I got to see first-hand that there really were people in his field that respected him and his advice. Strachey was surprisingly hard-working for a man who flitted from relationship to relationship - after Kyle, I guess I couldn’t blame him much for that. I couldn’t really tell if he actually liked his job, but surely he could have found something else if he’d disliked it that much.

Donald was in a meeting one day and somehow I got to talking with the Senator he worked the most with - she was feisty and she was fiercely loyal to Donald. When I asked her with a bit of skepticism about that, her reply was cutting, “That depends. Are you asking for yourself or your father.”

“If I’d spoken to him in the last six years, I might be able to give you the answer you seem so sure of, Senator Glass.”

She wasn’t put out, no, she grinned. “Good. So all those rumors were just that, rumors. I don’t know why you ever left politics, Timothy.”

“I’m sorry, do we know each other?”

“You were working on a charity benefit for my committee when you got caught in the spotlight.”

My sour look must have been clear, because she laughed. I felt my frown deepen. “You shouldn’t have let them get to you. You’re better than ten of them,” she waved her hand at the staffers running around behind her. “I would have taken you on, you know.” She patted my shoulder and stepped back towards her office. 

If I seemed unable to walk a straight line, it was because my eyes were watering with those bitter years flooding back. And they’d all been for nothing since I’d lost my father in the end anyway. 

I’d never wanted to be in the closet, but Edward Callahan had insisted that after my sister ran away, his campaign couldn’t afford another ‘embarrassment.’ Young as I was I’d still wanted to please him - I’d somehow thought that being in the closet didn’t matter. What a mistake that had been. Apparently washing out of the seminary _and_ being outed as a homosexual was too many embarrassments for him. Ties were cut just like that. My mother was still a big supporter of me, but my father had made his bed and he was going to stubbornly lie in it even if he continued to insist he wasn’t ashamed of me. Being ostracized by Ed Callahan had cost me my staffer position at the time and no one had wanted to earn his wrath up on the Hill by taking me on even if they didn’t agree with my dad. I quit politics then and there. I wouldn’t walk in my father’s shadow. I wouldn’t hide anymore. That isn’t who I was and I was finished with changing to suit _anybody_. 

So here I was: cat finder, spouse stalker, personal protection to Donald Strachey. It wasn’t glamorous and I’d be the first one to tell you it wasn’t my dream job, but it paid the bills, and most of the time I got to help people who really needed it. 

Donald must have sensed my blue mood because he gave me a wide berth on the way home, letting me stick to my own thoughts instead of trying to make conversation, but he did sit in the kitchen with me while I made dinner. It hadn’t escaped my notice that his waistline seemed a little trimmer since I started cooking even if it had only been about a week or so.

Sighing, I asked over the sizzle of my stir-fry, “You want a glass of wine with dinner?”

“Sure, sounds good.”

“That is a bald-faced lie, Strachey. You’re just humoring me.”

It was a good-natured jibe, but he blushed. I had heard him say to a waiter that he didn’t care for wine of any kind. “Beer then. You have the wine. There’s some good stuff around here, I’m told. I’ll dig in the cellar.”

“No, no, I shouldn’t,” I tried to protest. I don’t know why I had even asked the question, except that I really did want a drink after the turmoil my mind had been in this afternoon. Donald was already heading for the cellar door and waving his hand at me in dismissal. I swallowed and radioed Bub and Kenny.

“Seduce him for me, he’s hot,” Kenny chirped when I mentioned I might take a few hours off.

“Shut up, Kenny,” I said, rolling my eyes and turning the comm down.

“Donny, not Kenny,” Donald teased as he came back. “You’ll make a guy think you’re not paying attention.”

“Kenny’s one of my other employees. He’s a little enthusiastic.” I took the wok off the heat and spooned portions into bowls with a smidgen of rice to temper the heat.

“That smells really good. I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving, I’ve noticed,” I said with a smile, thinking that I couldn’t count the number of times he’d said that and then devoured whatever food that was within reach.

“I’ve got a high-energy job, I can’t help it.”

“Uh-huh. You’re really a teenager, trapped in a man’s body, aren’t you.”

“Oh, and you’re a geriatric trapped in a male model’s body,” he quipped back and then blushed for the second time, realizing what he said. I might have looked a little smug, if he could have seen me as I pulled his beer from the fridge.

“I’ll have you know, plenty of people do crosswords and cardigans will never go out of fashion. Here, eat, my garbage disposal.”

We both sat down and I pulled the glass of wine that he’d poured for me closer. “Yours?” he said quietly, looking down into his bowl.

It was my turn to feel my cheeks turn bright red. “I- figure of speech.” I cleared my throat and took a big bite of the stir-fry to avoid saying anything else too forward, but unfortunately I got one of the whole chilies too and my mouth lit up like a five-alarm fire. 

Hacking and coughing, I spat the offending bite across the counter, waving my hand in front of my mouth and trying to grab for some water to douse the flames I felt like were flooding my mouth. “Tim! Here!” Donald was shoving a piece of bread in one hand and a glass of water in the other, thumping at my back as I kept coughing and gasping for breath. Gulping down the water, I stuffed the entire roll in my mouth. “You okay, Tim?” I could still see his bright, bright blue eyes and the concern in them even with the water in mine.

Swallowing hard, I sucked down more water and wiped my mouth, leaning heavily on the marble countertop, taking deep heaving breaths. Finally able to breath, I looked at Strachey again, “Y-yes. Fine. Thank you.”

I was suddenly aware that his hand was rubbing gently on my back, the worry still creasing his brow as he watched me and I watched back, my eyes flicking to his mouth since he seemed too close all of a sudden. 

“Good. That’s good,” he murmured, his own eyes darting to my mouth after he noticed I’d done the same to him. He sucked in a breath and shifted his weight like he was stepping back toward his dinner--

His mouth was wet and hot just as I’d imagined when I felt his lips meet mine. It felt sizzling and I knew it wasn’t just the scalding from the chilies.

“ _Donald_ ,” his hands were gripping my waist like I might disappear and I surged against him, that tension between us bursting free. I dug my fingers into his hair and kept his lips pressed against mine.

“Not going anywhere,” he muttered, pressing my back against the counter. “You feel-”

“I know. You too.” I grappled at his shirt, fingers twining into the fabric, twisting and curling unable to decide if I wanted it on him so I could keep him close or wanted it off him so I could feel his taut skin.

His hand was sliding up my neck, cradling my jaw in a way that I whimpered in the back of my throat at how close and unbearably intimate it felt- intimate in a way I hadn’t been in far too long.

There was some throat clearing in my earpiece and I jerked back from Donald, my heart racing. “Oh, god, I’m so-”

“If you say you’re sorry, I will slip another one of those chilies in your cereal, Callahan.” He was still holding my face, still much too close for professionalism, but Donald obviously wasn’t thinking about that with the way he was smiling, his eyes half-closed. 

He looked...sweet. Satisfied even. Not at all like the stiff politician and military man I’d seen at the office. Not like the anxious, bottled up loner I’d seen in the den on that first night or the miserably distraught one I’d met the other night. It made me smile too even as I pushed him gently back so I wasn’t trapped between him and the counter, albeit pleasantly so.

“I can’t. I really don’t do this with clients,” I murmured, hand still resting on his very nice chest.

“Technically-”

“ _Technically_ , you’re my priority and I need to stay focused.” I arched an eyebrow at him. “I can’t be falling into bed and having things be awkward tomorrow morning.” I said without thought, straightening my collar a bit, my armor really.

“Why would it be awkward in the morning?” He yawned, stepping back towards the island to reach for his bowl.

“Because I’m really no good at one-night stands.”

He paused, not look back at me yet, his eyes still on his bowl of food. “And I only do one-night stands.” His tone had dropped like a stone.

“I know, I should be more modern about these things, but I’ve just never... That was a really good kiss,” I mused, touching my lips.

“Yeah, it was. Too bad,” he said in a monotone before sitting down at the island to continue where he’d left off eating. “I think I’ll head up to bed early. I’m beat,” he said, again so evenly, that I knew something had to be wrong.

“Sure. That’s probably a good idea.” I nibbled at my bowl, watching him closely, feeling more than a little disappointed that I couldn’t break the rules for this man. Maybe he was just as upset as I was that the evening hadn’t gone anywhere, that’s all.

\- - - 

The schedule stayed the same but somehow I seemed to see less and less of Donald. I didn’t notice at first, but he was quieter after that night - if a man as taciturn as Donald could get quieter. He didn’t pat my shoulder or brush his fingers against mine as we maneuvered through the work day. He didn’t stick around after I made dinner. We didn’t share a coffee after dinner and talk.

I didn’t like it.

And it wasn’t on a professional level that I didn’t like it. I _missed_ him. It made me itchy to have this stalker put away and the case closed so we could be on even ground. 

I was so preoccupied that at first I didn’t pay much attention to the mutterings from the people that had hired me for the protection detail that they were going to back things off now that it had been a few weeks with no escalation.

Until they told me I’d only be doing a daily check in with Strachey. I was to scale back the operation to bare bones. A perimeter sweep at his house and office in the morning and evening, that was it. 

I would have crumpled up the email and tossed it at the wall if I could have.

“Did they tell you about this?” I asked him to gauge his anxiety level after we’d gotten in the car to leave his office. 

“Yeah.” His lips curled up and he shook his head. “I guess the brass think that my stalkers gave up and things are settling down.”

“I know the police are making some progress but--”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, Tim. I’m super secret ninja trained, right?” he tried to laugh it off, but I didn’t buy it. 

“Why don’t you tell them no? You could still be in danger.”

“Tim, seriously, it’ll be fine. Everyone knows I’m being watched by tight security. I’m sure nobody’ll try anything now.”

“And when you show up at work alone, that’ll really tell them you’re still surrounded by black suits at all times.” I crossed my arms, starting to really get annoyed at how calm he was being about all this. He could be killed!

“Tim. Give it a rest. They’ve made their decision, okay? Just drop me at the house and you can take the car home.”

“Donald! You’re being- being-” I spluttered, trying to find a good word for just how cavalier he was being. “Dumb! You’re being dumb.”

“Real articulate, Sherlock. Thanks.”

“Well, you are! Your safety is questionable at best.”

“What do you care?” he spat out, his anger flaring up to visible levels now. I guess I’d been too pre-occupied to notice how flat his tone had been, how stiff his posture. “To you I’m just a manwhore selling out his country like I am to everyone else.”

I stared at him at a complete loss for words as he climbed out of the car that had conveniently for him just pulled up to his house before he slammed the door in my face. He could have said something to the effect of, “I thought you were different,” but it was muffled by steel and glass and I was too stunned to really process anything that happened after that.

\- - - 

I asked Kenny and Bub to cover the security checks for the next few days while I wallowed. Did he really think I thought of him that way? I felt miserable and completely unable to form the right thought to explain-- Except that I did think that he slept around. That’s what everyone said and I hadn’t bothered to investigate that for myself. I felt like such a heel. Was I wrong? Or was he just feeling spurned and taking it out on me for having principles. So much for no guessing.

I mulled the whole thing over while I caught up on my bookkeeping, my sleep, taking my dog Watson to the vet and various other things I had put off while I’d been entwined with Donald Strachey’s life. I could fix this, I knew I could. Feeling more positive about it, the next morning I called up my colleague at the police station to see how the case was actually going.

“We’ve got it narrowed down finally, Tim. The techs figured out some smudge on the last mailed letter-- anyway, the guy’s got priors for setting little car bomb surprises for his stalkees after he’s toyed with them. Twisted-”

I dropped my phone, and scrambled to pick it up again, hanging up on Tom in my haste to get a hold of Bub or Kenny. Donald was supposed to start driving his car again today. Oh, god, oh, god- Damnit I had better not hyperventilate before I get someone on the line-- My calls were all going to voicemail and I cursed as I raced to my car, pushing the speed limit to get over to Donald’s place. I tried his landline and Bub and Kenny again to no avail. Where in Albany were they, what were they doing that they weren’t answering?

Screeching to a loud halt in Don’s endlessly long driveway, I vaulted out of my small sedan and ran towards Don’s truck.

“Donald! Bailey, Kwan!” I ran as hard as I could, seeing Don scraping frost off his pick-up. “Donald, get back!”

His blond head darted up when he heard me, a frown crossing his features. “What’re you doing here-”

“Where are Kenny and Bub?”

“I told ‘em to take off and get some pastries. They were here damn early, slavedriver,” he tried joking as he reached to open the door.

“Donald, stop!” I ran, lunging for Donald and knocking him away from the car as he put up his hands to protect himself from my crazy dive at him. “A bomb,” I gasped in a heap on top of him. “Stalker. Does bombs. Car bombs.” My lungs were burning and my stomach ached from trying to get the words out and breathe at the same time. 

We both looked over to the undercarriage of the truck now conveniently at a good angle to see everything while we were on the ground. Sure enough there was a small, faint, slowly blinking red light underneath.

“Mind if I use your phone?” I asked him, rolling off him and pulling him up after me, forcefully dragging him further away from the truck. “I think I threw mine on the concrete in my mad dash up here. You know your driveway is insanely long, right?”

“To deter creeps who might get tired halfway,” he said, his face totally straight before cracking a smile.

“Phone,” I said, shaking my head with a wobbly grin as I tugged him even further from the truck. “Could’ve been there from when I first got the case. You’ve had that car service... since the higher ups started considering protection. Need to...to call the bomb squad,” I said as he was already handing me his cell. I was still trying to suck in breath when he grabbed me and planted a firm kiss on my mouth before I could even get the call made. 

“Thanks,” he said, before shoving his hands in his pockets and stepping back to let me do what needed doing.

The woman on the switchboard must have said hello a dozen times before I managed to answer properly.

\- - -

I wrung my hands nervously before pressing the doorbell. Donald and I were meeting to wrap up any loose ends now that his stalker had been caught. Thankfully, the bomb on his truck had been easily dismantled and had provided the police with crucial evidence to arrest the man. Donald was safe now. He still thought I was an ass, but he was safe. 

The door finally opened and there was Donald looking terribly, achingly handsome in jeans and a snugly fitting t-shirt. Turns out I’m a sucker for muscles exactly like Donald’s and he was wearing everything that set them off just right. Who needs a three-piece suit to look drop-dead gorgeous when you can do it in a t-shirt and jeans.

And bare feet. It gave him a strange vulnerability, those bare feet. It was telling really. He’d turned out to have a much softer underbelly than I’d ever imagined. He wasn’t a heartless bastard. He’d just been trying to protect his heart all this time.

“Hey, Tim.”

“Donald.” I nodded at him, trying to give a smile through my nerves and lust. “Just have a few papers I need signed and you can get rid of me. I-” I cleared my throat, trying to remember the apology I had gone over and over in my head the past few days.

“Why don’t you come in. I only talk to sales guys and girl scouts on my doorstep.”

I nodded, my mouth feeling dry as I stepped inside and past him standing around like a stranger, politely waiting while he closed the door, like I hadn’t just spent two weeks in his house.

“Donald, I...” I spread my hands in a _mea culpa_ still looking at the floor, trying to figure out how to say this right. 

“Hey, let’s stop right there.” He held up a hand and tugged me into the dining room. “You assumed, I didn’t make any effort to correct you. I don’t want to be that stubborn guy too stuck on his pride to miss out on this. I-” Well, he gestured at the candlelight dinner spread out on the dining table. “Maybe we could start fresh? Have an actual date first and then you can decide what kind of man I really am?” He was so earnest and wide-eyed.

“A good one,” I smiled at him stepping closer. “A really good one.” 

I kissed him with every intention of continuing to kiss him for quite awhile this time.


End file.
